“He has taken the castle”
“And that’s exactly what we planned”
The thin fingers of the old woman clutched an ancient tome, the pages damaged by humidity. Opening its pages released a soothing cinnamon scent.
“This was foretold, a narrative written by our ancient mothers, see? It’s an emergency plan.”
The young one, eyes pitch black in alabaster skin, tried too hard not to shiver.
“Does that mean YOU did this?”
“Don’t be a fool” The Young one frowned when the Old One mentioned the word “No one can control the weather, not even us.”
“Then how was this planned?”
“We carefully weaved these stories in every peoples’ folk tales, had he landed in the domain of your sister in the North we would have the same exact story, had he landed ten, one hundred years ago or next century it’s all the same, there will always be us”
“So I must be happy, then”
The Old One cast the tome into the fire. It crackled as if it was dying in pain.
“You must get to work, we are awaiting the next player in our plan, the girl is coming”